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French's International Copyrighted (in England, her Colonies, and 
the United States) Edition of the Works of the Best Authors 



THE WOMAN 

INTERVENES 

B IPUB tn ©nc Bet 

BY 
J. HARTLEY MANNERS 

Copyright, 1913, by Samuel French 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



CAUTION.— Amateurs and Professionals are hereby warned that 
**THE WOMAN INTERVENES," being fully protected under the 
copyright laws of the United States, is subject to royalty, and any 
•ne presenting the play without the consent of the author or his 
authorized agent, will be liable to the penalties by law provided. 
Application for the right to produce "THE WOMAN INTER- 
VENES," must be made to SAMUEL ERENCH, 28-30 WEST 38TH 
STREET, NEW YORK. 



PRICE 25 CENTS. 



New York 
SAMUEL FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 

28-30 WEST 38th STREET 



London 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Street 

STRAND 



THE WOMAN 

INTERVENES 



B plais in One Bet 



BY 
J. HARTLEY MANNERS 



Copyright, 1913, by Samuel French 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



CAUTION.— Amateurs and Professionals are hereby warned that 
**THE WOMAN INTERVENES." being fully protected under the 
copyright laws of the United States, is subject to royalty, and any 
one presenting the play without the consent of the author or his 
authorized agent, will be liable to the penalties by law provided. 
Application for the right to produce "THE WOMAN INTER- 
VENES," must be made to SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 WEST 38TH 
STREET, NEW YORK. 



New York 
SAMUEL FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 

28^0 WEST 38th STREET 



London 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Street 

STRAND 



4 THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 

QuiN. Sure there are plenty of others, sor. 
Paul. Don't answer me, you idiot. 
QuiN. No, sor. 

Paul, (searching among the keys on his chain 
for the key of the escritoire; indignantly.) Plenty 
of others ! 

QuiN. Sure there are, sor. There's one at — 

Paul. Fm going by the nine o'clock train. 

QuiN. All right, sor. 

Paul. If I miss it you leave my service tomor- 
row. 

QuiN. All right, sor. {Getting up.) There it 
is. 

Paul, (holding out a letter) See that this is 
sent by hand. 

QuiN. (running to him) My hand, sor? 

Paul. Get a messenger. 

OuiN. I could run round there in a — 

Paul. A messenger boy, I tell you. 

QuiN. (reading the envelope) But I know 
where Mrs. Brent lives. You've sent me there many 
a time — 

Paul, (snatching it from him) Give it to me. 
Put that on the cab at once. (Quin runs to the 
trunk and picks it up.) Send any letters to the 
Adelphi Hotel, Liverpool, until I wire. 

Quin. Will I tell the new servant that? 

Paul. What new servant? 

Quin. Ain't I leavin' ye if ye miss your train? 
And begob, you're going to miss it. 

Paul. Get out. (Quin runs out c. with the 
trunk. Paul hurriedly closes the drawers of the 
escritoire, then takes up a miniature with a little 
chain attached to it, kisses it, puts it face down- 
ward on the desk, closes the lid, then searches among 
the keys again for the right one. Quin rushes in 
breathlessly.) 



THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 5 

QuiN. {between gasps) Ye've only eight min- 
utes, and it's a mile and a half to the station. 

(Paul rushes out c, throzvlng up his coat collar 
and putting away his keys.) 

QuiN. {running after him) Ye'd better let me 
take that letter. I'd see she had it. 
Paul, {outside) I'll send it myself. 

{The door hangs. Quin re-enters and hustles 
akout, straightening things.) 

Quin. {muttering to himself) Rushing about 
like a madman, when there's a betther train in the 
morning, and have a good night's rest to boot ! {A 
hell rings. ) Begob, he's come back ! Now there'll 
be the devil to pay and all. {He runs out. Out- 
side — after a pause.) No ma'am. He just drove 
away this minnit. 

The Woman, {outside) How provoking! I'll 
go in for a moment — 

Quin. But I tell ye he's just dhruv away. 

The Woman. I'll write him a note. {She en- 
ters in elahorate evening dress and furs.) What 
comfy quarters he has! Where's he gone? (^Look- 
ing ahoiit quickly, her eyes rest on the escritoire.) 

Quin. To Liverpool. 

The Woman. Business? 

Quin. Sure, how should / know? 

The Woman. Oh! I've left my pocketbock in 
the cab. Do run down and get it for me. 

Quin. {undecided) Well, but ye see, ma'am — 

The Woman. Hurry, please. I want a card 
out of it. 

Quin. That's all very well, but — 

The Woman, {commandingly) At once! 

Quin. {hurrying out muttering) I don't like 
this at all, at all. 



6 THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 

(The Woman watches him off. Turning to the 
escritoire she tries it, finds it unlocked, laughs, 
searches and rummages among the papers, finds 
the miniature, looks at it, produces a pocket- 
book from her fur cloak and slips the minia- 
ture into it.) 

QuiN. (entering) There isn't the sign of a 
pocketbook in the cab. 

The Woman. How perfectly foolish of me ! I 
had it here all the time. (She laughs.) Stupid of 
me, wasn't it? 

QuiN. Yes, ma'am. ^ 

The Woman. How long will Mr. Winthrope 
be awa}^? 

QuiN. Until he thinks he'll come back. 

The Woman. You're not very communicative. 

QuiN. And who might you be, ma'am? 

The Woman. A very old friend of Mr. Win- 
thrope's. 

QuiN. Indade! And what name will I tell him? 

The Woman. Val. 

QuiN. Vair 

The Woman. Yes — just Val. 

QuiN. Sure, that doesn't sound like a name at 
all. Val ! 

The Woman, (laughing) Tell Mr. Winthrope, 
when he really makes up his mind to come back, 
that Val called and was so sorry to have missed 
him. (She gives him a coin.) Thank you so much 
for being so agreeable. Good night. (She goes to 
the door.) 

QuiN. Good night, ma'am. And I'm much 
obliged. (A furious ringing is heard at the outer 
bell. QuiN runs out muttering.) Wlio the devil 
is this? 

The Woman, (looking again at the miniature 
and laughing) Poor little Dolly! (She puts it 
away, gathers her cloak round her and goes to 



THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 7 

the door when the sound of voices arrests 
her. ) 

Paul, {outside) This is the last time. You 
get out to-morrovv\ (The Woman draws hack out 
of the line of the door. Paul enters angrily tear- 
ing off his gloves, followed by Quin. ) You 
don't even know the right time. The train was 
gone when I left this room. The Temple clock 
was striking nine as I reached the Strand. You 
fool ! 

Quin. (anxiously) S-s-sh ! 

Paul. What? 

Quin. S-s-sh. (looking around.) Where in 
the" world is she? (He sees her, and points her 
out to Paul.) There she is. 

Paul, (looking at The Woman in amazement) 
Val! 

Quin. Val! Well, of all the nimes 

Paul. (recovering from his astonishment, 
jneeting her as she comes doivn to him) Why, how 
are you ? 

The Woman. Splendid. And you? (Taking 
his hand.) Surprised, eh? And delighted? (A 
pause.) W^ell — say it! 

Paul. Of course I'm delighted. 

The Woman. I thought you would be. (To 
Quin.) Thank you so very much for mak- 
ing Mr. Winthrope miss his train. We're both 
extremely obliged to you. (To Paul.) Aren't 
we? 

Quin. Oh, there's a fine train in the morning, 
and he can — 

Paul. Take that away — 

Quin. I will, sor. (He takes up the trunk and 
goes out at the right muttering to himself.) Val! 
May the devil fly away with me if I ever heard a 
name like that before ! 

The W^oman. (sitting and loosening her cloak) 
Well, this is nice, isn't it? 



8 THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 

Paul, (taking off his coat) Charming. But 
I can't understand — 

The Woman. Don't try. I just felt I wanted 
to see you — 

Paul, (looking at his zuatch) At this time — 

The Woman. What does time matter to usf 

Paul. Well, but— 

The Woman. I'm not responsible to anyone 
for my actions. Are you? 

Paul. No. Still— 

The Woman. It was just an impulse. You 
know I was always impulsive, wasn't I? Remem- 
ber? 

Paul. Why, yes. 

The Woman. You do? 

Paul. Yes. 

The Woman. Fancy that! I thought you'd 
forgotten all about me. 

Paul. Oh, no. 

The Woman. But you've never been to see me. 
I don't believe you've ever thought about me. 

Paul. Really, I have. 

The Woman. I suppose it was just shyness 
that kept you from writing. You were always 
shy with women. And yet at one time you never 
let a day pass without seeing me or writing to me 
or telephoning to me or wiring me. Funny thing, 
time, isn't it? 

Paul. I think it was for the best. 

The Woman. Your dropping me? 

Paul. Val ! 

The Woman. I like to hear you call me that. 
For whom was it best — youf 

Paul. For us both. 

The Woman. Why? Didn't you love me? 

Paul. Did you love mef 

The Woman. I wonder if I did? Well, any- 
way, here we are, a man and a woman, thrown 
upon the waves of chance after ten years. Let 



THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 9 

me look at you. You're gray, and I'm disillusioned. 
{She laughs.) I think I'd rather be gray. I could 
hide that. You look very uncomfortable. {She 
chuckles. ) 

Paul. It's all so unexpected — so — 

The Woman. Unpleasant? 

Paul. Oh, no. Far from it. {Suddenly.) 
Why did you come here tonight? 

The Woman. Well — we were talking about 
you this afternoon. 

Paul. Wef Who? 

The Woman. Dolly and I. 

Paul, {rising) Dolly? 

The Woman. Yes. Dolly Brent. 

Paul. Talking about me? 

The Woman. Well, that shouldn't surprise 
you. 

Paul. What do you mean? 

The Woman. Don't you expect her to talk 
about you? 

Paul. I don't understand you. 

The Woman. You weren't always so dense. 

Paul. What did she say about me? 

The Woman. Many things. Paul, can I speak 
to you like an old comrade — a pal? 

Paul. Why, of course, Val. 

The Woman, {going to him, and putting her 
hand on his shoulder) Drop it ! 

Paul. Drop what? 

The Woman. Dangling at the skirts of a mar- 
ried woman! {He draws hack with an ejacida- 
tion.) It isn't nice, it isn't manly, it isn't honor- 
able ; and it's more than a little dangerous. 

Paul. Is that what you've come here to tell 
me? 

The Woman. Yes, it is. Dolly and I are old 
chums. I was one of her bridesmaids. I found 
her today in tears. I probed, as a clumsy surgeon 
runs a lance into a wound, to see if it hurts, and I 
found the sore place. It was you. 



lo THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 

Paul. She was crying? 

The Woman. Like a pretty, little blue-eyed 
spoilt baby. 
Paul. Why? 

The W^oman. Because she thinks she's gone too 
far and doesn't know how to draw back. 

Paul. You're absolutely wrong. 

The Woman. Am I? I don't think so. It's 
the last thing I'd have expected of you. When 
you made love to me, at lea^;t you had a spice of 
originality. That was why I liked you. But this 
married woman business — Bah ! It's so unimagina- 
tive, so sordid, so bourgeois! Drop it! 

Paul. I tell you — 

The Woman. I'll tell you. That kiiid of puppy 
dog attention dates back to our scantily clad war- 
rior forefathers who'd go hunting wild animals 
and leave their womenkind at home; and into the 
little mud huis would creep the stay-at-home war- 
riors and speak to the wives of neglect, of the hus- 
bands that didn't understand them, of the beauti- 
ful things of love, and the wretched humdrum 
of marriage. Oh, it's all so old — and so mean! 
{Suddenly) Paul ! In those days there were no 
divorces. The husbands used to take those tame 
household puppies to the edge of a cliff and stone 
them, and point to their whitened bones as a warn- 
ing to the other puppies. Go and look at some of 
those whitened bones, Paul. 

Paul, (in a white heat) How dare you? 

The Woman. Dare I? There's very little I 
wouldn't dare to save one of my sex from the paws 
that fondle first and then scratch. 

Paul. You speak to me as if — I were a — cad. 

The Woman. Any man who pursues a mar- 
ried \xoman as you have Dolly must expect to be 
called by any name that fits his conduct. 

Paul. You absolutely and completely wrong 
me. 



THE WOMAN INTERVENES. ii 

The Woman. Do I? 

Paul. Absolutely. It is companionship. That's 
all it's ever been, or ever could be. 

The Woman. I believe that. But isn't it a very 
dangerous companionship ? 

Paul. How? 

The Woman. Captain Brent served in Africa. 

Paul. I know that. 

The Woman. Do you remember a company of 
English soldiers being butchered to a man, and 
Captain Brent going after the butchers and catch- 
ing them and shooting every one of them at sun- 
rise in cold blood? The heat had died out in the 
hunt. It was just a cold-blooded massacre for 
massacre. What do you suppose a man like Brent 
would do to a tame puppy who pestered his wife? 
Wring his neck, eh? 

Paul, {heatedly) Or get his own wrung. 

The Woman. Oh! A spark of the old manli- 
ness! I'd begun to think you'd lost it. 

Paul. Listen. You wrong her; you wrong 
me. It is the purest friendship. That's all. Pie 
does neglect her. He values her less than the 
shoulder-knot on his tunic. Not a guilty thought 
has ever entered my mind or hers. 

The Woman. I'm glad to hear it. But who 
knows when the guilty thoughts may come? And 
if they do — well, we're all very primitive when we 
get down to old mother earth, aren't we? We're 
the same old animals that came out of caves, only 
we've new manners of speech, a little more cloth- 
ing, and ribbons and jewels instead of leaves and 
shells for ornaments. But remove our coating of 
civilization, and out springs the primitive brute 
and devours all our fine ideas of companionship 
and idealism and the whole cant of today. That's 
what I want to save you and Dolly from. You 
must never see her again. 

Paul. That rests entirely with her. 



12 THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 

The Wo:man. Does it? 

Paul. Entirely. 

The Woman. Then here is your dismissal. {She 
hands him a note. He tears it open and reads it.) 
She wrote it while I was with her. 

Paul. This is your doing! 

The Woman. Of course it is. 

Paul. By God, I won't accept it! She'll tell 
me herself to go. 

The Woman. Why give her the bother of do- 
ing that? 

Paul. You don't know the hell she's been liv- 
ing in with that soldier brute as her husband. She 
craves for something more in her life. 

The Woman. Well, she'll find it, and w^ithout 
your assistance. 

Paul. With her husband? 

The Woman. Yes. 

Paul. Bah ! 

The Woman. And with the first cry from their 
little baby. (A pause. She watches him.) Now 
do you see? Do you understand why I found her 
crying her little heart out? 

Paul, {stunned, burying his face in his hands) 
My God! My God! 

The Woman. {compassionately putting her 
hand on his shoulder) Come. Think back ten 
years to what you were then, and fight it out as a 
well plucked man would. {He moans.) Does it 
mean as much as that to you? 

Paul. I love her ! 

The Woman. Really? 

Paul. From my soul. 

The Woman. Then my task is easier than I 
thought. I was afraid it was just selfish infatua- 
tion. That is the hardest to deal with — robbing 
the hunter of his prey. But where there is love, 
everything is changed. Love is in the heart, and 
the heart of the lover is the easiest softened. Prove 



THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 13 

your love, Paul, by never allowing a word of re- 
proach to linger on the wife or the mother. {A 
pause.) You'll never see her again? 

Paul. I can't! I can't! 

The Woman. Yes, you will. If you love her, 
you will. Promise me. 

Paul, (after a pause, looking up and rising) 
I promise. 

The Woman. Good! {She takes up her cloak.) 
My errand is over. The Paul I knew ten years 
ago would never break his word. 

Paul. You may be sure of that. Go now. 
Leave me with my thoughts. 

The Woman. No bitterness? 

Paul. No. You showed me my duty. 

The Woman. I suppose you never want to see 
me again, do you? 

Paul. Not just yet. 

The W^oman. Very well. If you ever do, 
there's a little corner at my fireside, with a comfy 
little seat, a whiskey and soda, a hearty handshake, 
not a word of this, and a great big remembrance 
of a ten-year-old friendship waiting for you. Good- 
bye, Paul. {She holds out her hand.) 

Paul. Good-bye, Val. {^The bell rings vio- 
lently.) 

The Woman, (holding his hand) Good luck. 

Paul. Thank you. (He drops his eyes. She 
goes to the door. Ouin comes in at the centre and 
hands a card to Paul.) 

Paul. (reading) Captain Brent. (The 
Woman turns round and looks at him.) Show 
him in. Quin goes out.) 

The Woman. Does he often call on you? 

Paul. This is the first time. 

The Woman. Oho! 

Paul. He'd better not see you. 

The Woman. Why not ? / want to see hint. 
(Suddenly.) Put that away. (She points to the 



14 THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 

letter she gave him. Paul has just time to hide 
the letter as Quin shows in Captain Brent, a tall, 
bronzed, gray-haired man of fifty. Quin goes out. 
Brent comes quickly and nervously into the room, 
hut stops dead when he sees The Woman. She 
smiles.) Hello! 

Brent, (nodding curtly, then abruptly to Paul) 
I want to talk to you privately. 

The Woman. But I haven't finished with Mr. 
Winthrope yet. 

Brent, (turning on her) I want to talk to him 
alone. 

The Woman. Then youll have to come some 
other time. (She sits down.) 

Brent, (malignantly) I'm going to talk to him 
now. 

The Woman. Well, don't make such a fuss 
about it. Go ahead. 

Brent. I said alone. 

The Woman. Oh, don't mind me being here. 
We have no secrets from each other. 

Brent, (amazed) What? 

The Woman, (smiling with assumed tender- 
ness up at him) Have we, Paul? 

(Brent looks quickly from one to the other.) 

The Woman. Now then, Captain Brent, we're 
all ready. What is it? 

Paul, (going to The Woman) Leave us, 
please. 

The Woman. I won't do anything of the kind. 
I think you're both very rude. 

Brent. What I'm going to say will not be very 
pleasant for a woman's ears. 

The Woman. All the better. I love unpleas- 
ant things. Go ahead. 

Brent. Very well. I will. (To Paul.) You 



THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 15 

have been seeing a good deal of my wife. (A 
pause.) Do you deny it? 
Paul. No, 

(The Woman rises anxiously.) 

Brent. You have a miniature of hers? Haven't 
you? 

The Woman. (before Paul can answer) 
What! Another? Does Dolly give them to every- 
one? 

Brent, {turning quickly on her) What do you 
mean ? 

The Woman. Eve a beauty. {She takes it out 
of her pocketbook.) Look! 

Brent. Where did you get that? 

The Woman. From Dolly. L^n't It pretty? 

Brent. ( to Paul) That is the one she gave 
you. 

The Woman. Gave Paul? How ridiculous! 
{To Paul.) Eve never even shown it to you, have 

I? 

Brent. Will you keep out of this? 

The Woman. Certainly. {She sits down.) 

Brent, {vehemently and forcefully to Paul) 
You're a damned blackguard, and Eve come here 
to stop you from ever acting again as you've done 
in my home. 

Paul, {menacingly to Brent) Let us go into 
the court beneath this window, Captain Brent, and 
repeat v/hat you've just said. {He starts toward 
the door.) 

The Woman. {jumping up and intercepting 
them) But why? Why go out in the snow? Set- 
tle your discussion here by the fire-light. 

Brent. Ell settle it damn quick, you paltry — 
{He draws a revolver.) 

The Woman, {stepping between them) How 
soldiers love firearms! 



i6 THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 

Brent. Don't you — 

The Woman. Put that away. 

Brent. This is no business of yours. 

The Woman. Isn't it? You're waving a re- 
volver at a man I'm engaged to, and you say it's 
no business of mine! You must be mad! 

Brent. You're engaged? To himf 

The Woman. Alas, yes. {To Paul.) There! 
He's surprised our secret, hasn't he ? 

Brent. But — 

The Woman. Turn that ugly muzzle away. It 
may go off. 

Brent. Engaged? (To Paul.) Then what 
do you mean by hanging round my wife? 

The W^oman. Because I asked him to. Dolly 
is my oldest friend. 

Brent. You know he's been doing it? 

The Woman. I made him do it, poor dear. 
Dolly's so dull. (To Brent.) What in the world 
is the matter with you? Is this a joke? 

Brent. Joke! {He holds up the revolver.) 
• The Woman. Turn that away. 

Brent. You made him call on my wife ! Why, 
my servant overheard her telling another woman 
today that she'd gone so far she dreaded the con- 
sequences. 

The Woman. Quite right. / was the other 
woman. 

Brent. You ! 

The Woman. You met me going out as you 
came in this afternoon. 

Brent. That's true. 

The Woman. I really don't know what's the 
matter with you. 

Brent. What did my wife dread? 

The Woman. Being bored any longer by my 
dear Paul's long-winded sermons. Fve suffered 
from them, goodness knows. She didn't see why 
she should. What else did you think? 



THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 17 

Brent. I didn't know what to think! 

The Woman. Did you ask your wife? 

Brent. No; I wanted to deal with him first. 

The Woman. (with a little gasp of relief, 
laughing nervously) And you put that horrid 
piece of steel in your pocket and come round here 
to make a foolish scene ! Really, you ought to have 
your ears boxed. Paul, box his ears! (Brent 
faces Paul and makes a sudden movement with 
the revolver. The Woman grips his wrist.) 
I'm surprised that an officer in the English 
army should listen to the tattling of servants 
and jump to the most unworthy conclusions about 
one of the most charming women in London. You 
will go to your wife at once and beg her pardon 
on your knees — after you've apologized to Mr. Win- 
thrope and me. 

Brent. What ! 

The Woman. We used to say " an officer and 
a gentleman." I'm afraid we'll have to drop the 
latter term if you're a fair specimen of the Eng- 
lish officer. 

Brent. My servant distinctly heard — 

The Woman. Your servant! {She points to 
the revolver. ) Then go and use that on him. And 
what did your servant hear? {She holds up the 
miniature. ) That Dolly had given this to Mr. Win- 
thrope? 

Brent. Yes. 

The Woman. I thought so. And because, when 
I know your wife is miserable at your neglect, your 
brutality and your complete lack of consideration 
for even her lightest wishes, and I think I'll dis- 
tract her mind by letting her listen to my dear Paul's 
platitudes, you jump to conclusions, brandish a re- 
volver and act like a theatrically avenging husband 
—with nothing to avenge. And I assure you there 
is nothing to avenge. {A pause.) 'Pon my soul, 



i8 THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 

you men are droll. {Suddenly.) Paul! Don't you 
ever go near Dolly again. 

Brent. I'll take damn good care he doesn't. 

The Woman. Kindly leave " damn " out of 
your conversation, please. You're not in your bar- 
racks, Captain Brent. 

Brent. I beg your pardon. 

The Woman, {indicating Paul) Beg his, too. 

Brent. What for? 

The Woman. For your ridiculous and insult- 
ing suspicions. If you don't, I warn you, I'll 
make you the laughing stock of every drawing 
room in London and of your regiment. Beg his 
pardon. (Brent hesitates.) Go on. You're in 
the wrong. You are, indeed. 

Brent, {turning to Paul) Sorry I was so 
hasty. 

The Woman, {victoriously) Ah ! Why, there's 
more of the man and less of the bully in you than 
I thought. Now go home and apologize to your 
wife. You ought to do the same to me, but I'll 
let you off. {A pause.) Are you going to your 
wife, tell her of the scene you made here, and ask 
her forgiveness? If you don't I'll make a nine days' 
joke of it. Believe me, I will. Are you? 

Brent. Yes. 

The Woman. Good. In future, if your wife 
must be bored do it yourself. Goodness knows, 
you can. And one thing more : discharge that serv- 
ant — and kick him, into the bargain. 

Brent, {vehemently) I will. The damned — I 
beg your pardon. 

The Woman, {opening the door) And now, 
Captain Brent, good night. 

Brent, {going to the door, looking at Paul, 
then at The Woman) I thought that — But I have 
your word there was nothing — 

The Woman. Nothing beyond your stupid sus- 



THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 19 

picions and a mischief making servant's lies. You 
ought to know Dolly better. 

Brent, (straightening up) I do. By God, 
I do. I'm sorry, Winthrope. I'm just a 
blundering fool. The blood was up in my head. 
Shake hands. 

Paul, {holding his hands behind him) Good 
night. 

Brent, {to The Woman) Dolly's everything 
to me, and I — I— 

The Woman. I know. Let me give you a word 
of counsel. Don't worry her with doubts — es- 
pecially just now. Don't give her time for sick 
fancies. Begin your love making all over again. 
Take her for another honeymioon out of this 
wretched climate into the sunshine. 

Brent. I will. Much obliged to you for put- 
ting me straight. 

The Woman. Some men would never go 
straight if a woman didn't intervene. {She points 
to the revolver.) Throw that in the dustbin. 
Good-bye and good luck. {She gives him her hand. ) 
■ Brent, {huskily; hiding the revolver) Thank 
you. Good night. {He goes out abruptly.) 

(The Woman and Paul listen until the outer 
door bangs. Paul makes a movement ; she 
checks him. She runs to the telephone and 
rings it.) 

The Woman, {at the 'phone) Hello! Hello! 
Exchange? Give me 4394 Gerrard, please — 
4 — 3 — 9 — 4. {To Paul.) See if he's gone. 

(Paul goes out. A door is heard to open then 
shut. Paul re-enters.) 

Paul. He's just disappeared into the Strand. 
The Woman, {talking into the 'phone) Are 



20 THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 

you there? 4394? Is Mrs, Brent in? Mrs. Brent? 
Val! Val! V-A-L— yes. That's all. She'll 
know. (Paul, moving excitedly around the room, 
stumbles into a chair.) Be quiet. (Into the 
'phone.) Is that you, Dolly? Yes, Val. Yes. 
Don't talk — listen ! I say don't talk — let me. I'm 
at Mr. Winthrope's. Yes — Paul's. Quite all right. 
I've got the miniature. Yes, I've got it. That's 
off your mind. No, he didn't give it to me. I 
found it on his desk and took it. Wait a minute. 
Can't you keep still for two seconds? Your hus- 
band's been here. Oh, we had a most amusing 
time. One of your servants overheard us to-day 
and told him. . . . No. I told him you gave me 
the miniature, and that Paul called on you because 
I told him to. Yes. To make it look all right, I 
said that Paul and I are engaged. {She laughs.) 
You should have seen his face ! You should see 
it now. 

Isn't that funny? Oh, we had a lovely fifteen 
minutes. He's going home to you now — to apolo- 
gise. Don't you forgive him too quickly. Make 
quite a fuss first, then give in gradually and make 
him promise never to do it again. See? Oh, 
you're a silly little goose. Of course it's all right. 
Best thing that could have happened. Come round 
in the m.orning and I'll tell you the whole story. 
What are you doing now? Crying f S-sh — s-sh — 
s-sh! Don't {She ivipes her eyes.) Now^ you've 
started me doing the same thing. Bless you, dear, 
don't be frightened. He'll eat out of your hand. 
But — Dolly — no more nonsense, dear. The Col- 
onel's as straight as a die, and he's mad about you. 
Don't let him see you've been crying. All right. 
Good night. Bless you ! . . . Yes — first thing in 
the morning. Good night. {She hangs up the re- 
ceiver.) There! That's all over. {She wipes her 
eyes with her handkerchief , and takes up her cloak. 
Paul helps her with it.) 



THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 21 

The Woman. Thank you. 

Paul. Thank you. 

The Woman. That's all right. Keep away from 
fire, like a good little boy, or you'll get burnt. You 
won't always find a woman intervening for you. 

Paul. Val, as God is my judge, there was noth- 
ing— 

The Woman. I know that, or I wouldn't have 
interfered. I'd have said to the Captain : ** Shoot 
away! He deserves it." Now I'm off. (She starts 
for the door.) 

Paul. May I see you again? 

The Woman. Yes — in ten years ; and we'll talk 
it all over. 

Paul. You're wonderful. 

The Woman. Oh, don't begin on me. I'm not 
Dolly. 

Paul. You've saved us all. 

The Woman. That's a comfort. By the way, 
if that hot-headed Captain announces our engage- 
ment we must quarrel and break it off. 

Paul. To do that we must meet. 

The Woman. Of course. The seat by the fire- 
side, the whiskey and soda and a quarrel. {She 
smiles at him.) 

Paul. Why did you do this? 

The Woman. To save Dolly, of course. 

Paul. And me? 

The Woman, {nodding) A little. (Paul 
kisses her hand.) Pity the glove is on. Never 
mind — it won't be when you call. 

Paul. Ten years ago! I'm very, very, grate- 
ful. 

The Woman, {shivering) Don't! Think about 
it tonight, and come round tomorrow afternoon — 
not the morning — and we'll dream back those ten 
years. 

Paul. Those ten lost years! 



22 THE WOMAN INTERVENES. 

The Woman. No, Paul. Nothing is ever lost. 

Paul. I'm really very grateful. 

The Woman. Would you like to prove it? 

Paul. In any way. 

The Woman. Then show me to my cab — 
(Looks at watch.) Oh! and pay the driver. {As 
they disappear c. the curtain falls.) 



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